Steele Blushing addition
by Sophieblue
Summary: An attempt to fill in some of the blanks about what happened at the end of that episode at Steele's apartment.
1. Chapter 1

_Steele Blushing; inserted scene. Steele's apartment, just before the last scene of the episode._

The doorbell buzzed and Steele came from the kitchen. He opened the door to find Laura holding a cardboard box overflowing with magazines, some of which were spilling onto the floor.

"Can you grab some? They're heavier than they look."

He took the whole box from her and carried it into the apartment, placing it on the floor near the couch, while she gathered up the dropped magazines and closed the door behind her.

"I covered all the places that carry _Bedside Babes_ on the west side, assuming the list we got from the publisher was complete. How did you do?" she asked, tossing the loose magazines and her purse on the floor..

He gestured to a large pile on the floor near the fireplace. "I cleaned out all the establishments on my half of the list. I must say, I'm glad this sort of project doesn't come up often in our work. I eventually stopped trying to explain the situation to the proprietors and just allowed them to think what they would. God only knows what conclusions they reached."

She smiled, "You mean this isn't your preferred kind of legwork? I'd have thought you'd like this better than tracking down embezzling accountants and long-lost relatives."

"Hmmm. Bit sordid, even for me," he said. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll fetch us some wine."

He returned from the kitchen a few minutes later to find her looking at the picture of her own face on another woman's body. He chuckled a little as he settled beside her on the floor.

"I can't believe you thought this was me."

"Well, Laura, it's not as if I have a point of reference."

Holding up the magazine, she tapped the photograph in the general vicinity of the woman's large breasts. "And where did you think I keep these? In my purse?"

He looked chagrined. "Well, to be honest, I didn't look at the picture that closely. We were in the office, after all..."

She caught his meaning and nodded, clearly not wanting to descend into a discussion of his possible arousal.

He took the magazine out of her hands and studied the picture. She made to take it back from him, but he held it and said, "Give me just a minute." She acquiesced and he looked at the picture again. "I should have realized that this wasn't you for a number of reasons. The hands are wrong, for one thing. Your fingers are much more delicate. And look, no freckles...the poor girl, like an ice-cream cone without sprinkles. And your hips are more slender, particularly right here where they meet your thighs..."

He was gesturing on the photograph, and she looked away, taken aback by the intimacy of having him describe her body in such detail. "Okay, I get it."

They were silent for a few minutes, and he tossed the magazine into the fire and reached for another.

"You're bothered that I thought you would do something like this, aren't you?" he said at last.

She tossed a magazine and hesitated before answering. "I suppose I am, a little."

He took a breath to respond, but she cut him off. "And don't bring up the fan dance thing. That was...different. It was specific to that time and place, and it wasn't....this is just...." she searched for the right word. "This is just..."

"Dirty?"

"Yes. And I'm not like that. There's a difference between being uninhibited and being cheap...maybe it's a fine line, but...."

"I understand, Laura. And I don't think of you that way. If I'd had time to process this, I would have realized that it didn't make sense, just as I would have realized that that isn't your body."

They were silent again for a time, and resumed tossing magazines in the fireplace.

"I did pose once, but it wasn't like this," she said.

His voice squeaked a little as he said, "Oh?"

"In college. My friend Michael was an art major, and he needed a model for some photographs. They weren't sexual, though."

"Oh?"

She looked thoughtfully at the fire. "They were quite good, actually. He was very talented."

"And he had a lovely subject."

"Hmmm." She shrugged off his compliment.

"Do you have copies?"

"I used to. They must have been lost when my house was destroyed. I hadn't looked at them in ages."

"Would he still have the negatives?"

"I'm sure he would; he was always very careful about archiving his work. And these photos helped him get into the graduate program he was interested in. He got his MFA and has his own gallery now, in San Francisco. "

"You should contact him and ask for prints."

She smirked. "You want to see them, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Laura. Aside from being interested in art, I want to see you naked with approximately the same intensity I have for wanting to draw my next breath. But that's not the point. You were part of creating something beautiful, and you shouldn't let go of that."

"I suppose you're right. And I shouldn't be self-conscious about it now...a few thousand people saw those pictures at the time; they were part of his senior art show."

"So, he was...just a friend?"

"Yes, Mr. Steele. It's possible for an artist to have a professional relationship with his subject. As familiar as you are with the art world, you should understand that."

"I do. I just think that if the artist in question is a college-age boy and the subject in question is you, it seems unlikely that there wasn't some degree of lust directed your way."

"Michael's gay."

"Ah," he said.

"Don't be smug."

They continued feeding the magazines into the fire, watching them slowly curl up and turn to ash.

"You know, you went to great lengths to keep me out of this Veenhoff business. It may be presumptuous of me to say, but your concerns about my misconceptions regarding this magazine seem a bit, well, excessive."

She sighed. "It is presumptuous of you to say, but not entirely inaccurate. I suppose, after my experience with Wilson, I'm overly sensitive to being thought of as..." She didn't finish her thought, and he waited for her to continue.

"After the Acapulco trip, Wilson and I had a big fight. He blurted out that I had acted like a slut, which is a word I really despise, as it is only applied to women who sleep around, and never to men. Not to mention that I wasn't sleeping around; I was always faithful...never so much as held hands with another man while I was with Wilson."

Again, he waited for her to go on. "He apologized, but it was clear that this was just one more case of us disappointing each other. A few weeks later, he left."

After a moment he took her hand. "I dislike that term myself, Laura. It's hypocritical for men to enjoy women's sexuality and then disparage them for it. That said, I think I am uniquely qualified to testify that you are not, by any stretch of the imagination, a slut."

He smiled at her and ran his fingers down the side of her neck, but she didn't return the smile. "A tease, then?"

He took his fingers away and looked seriously at her. "No, Laura. While I have, at times, been frustrated by the pace of our relationship, I understand your reasons for being conflicted. I know that I've given you cause to mistrust me, and you want to be certain that sex between us won't ruin everything you've worked for with the agency. I don't happen to share your concerns, but that doesn't mean I don't respect your right to put me off. Besides, I find those sorts of labels for women to be odious. Prude, slut, tease...they're all terms that try to force women into a very narrow course of behavior. And I find that the sort of men who use them tend to not like women very much. Not to cast aspersions on your cowardly, flaccid, misogynistic ex, of course."

She smiled. "He really wasn't like that. He just had a lot invested in his career, and banking is about as conservative a field as there is."

"Remind me never to go into banking, then. My instincts aren't suited to it. I still can't quite grasp how Wilson didn't propose to you on the spot."

Shaking her head, she said, "No, he was right. And he made me realize that I had a lot to lose, too. Reputation is everything in business, and I was trying to build a name for myself as an investigator. I had put everything I cared about--personally and professionally-- at risk with one evening of indiscretion."

"Remarkably provincial mores you have in America. In most of Europe, no one would bat an eye."

He picked up another magazine and looked at the cover. "You know, by that same token, posing for a magazine like this may be a bit tacky, but that doesn't make it immoral. I don't particularly like women who listen to country music and wear polyester pantsuits, either, but that's not a moral condemnation."

She took the magazine from him and leafed through it. "You're right, of course. Every woman has her own ideas about what is acceptable, and I have to respect that. I do feel bad for the women who were just trying to do something romantic for their husbands and wound up on public display, though. Veenhoff took a sweet gesture and turned it into an embarrassment for them, and that's sad."

"It is. Taking advantage of something done out of love is cruel."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment as he tossed another copy of the magazine into the fire.

_"I suppose you're wondering why I went to Veenhoff in the first place," she said._

_"The thought had crossed my mind."_

_"It all started innocently enough. I needed a portrait for the alumni journal, and--"_

_"Of course you did." _

_"You see, that's what I mean. That's exactly why I didn't come to you about this in the first place. I needed a portrait. He took a portrait. I didn't know anything about Veenhoff's boudoir business until he came to me with this problem."_

_Steele smiled, glancing at the picture in the magazine. "The alumni journal, eh?" _

_"Perfectly legitimate."_

_"Oh, the alumni are going to be delighted with this, aren't they?"_

_Laura watched him for a moment, then grabbed the magazine from him to toss it into the fire. She threw herself on top of him and kissed him passionately as his arms wrapped around her body._

The kiss deepened, and he ran his hands up and down her back. Her hair draped them in a soft curtain as their tongues explored each other's mouths. His hands made their way down to her hips and he pressed her more tightly against him, eliciting a small groan from her.

After a moment she pulled away and moved off of him, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry; I should get home."

He propped himself up on his elbows, and his voice was neutral as he said, "If you like."

She hesitated before blurting out, "Do you really not blame me for this?"

"For leaving? Well, I wish you wouldn't, but like I said, I understand your reasons for it. I'd love it if you'd stay just a little longer, not pull away quite so suddenly, but...well." He sat up and shrugged.

She looked at her hands. "The truth is, sometimes I leave before I want to because I'm worried about leading you on. It sounds so adolescent when I put it like that, but...well, I feel like I owe it to you to be sure that I'm not going to change my mind after things have progressed to a point of no return."

"Laura, there is no point of no return. I'll happily enjoy whatever you're willing to give, and, well, if you're trying to save me from cold showers, it's a bit late for that. I've already taken quite a few showers with you in mind--not all of them cold."

She studied the fire. He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be so crude."

Shaking her head, she said, "No, don't apologize. I think we need a little bluntness. Being coy hasn't gotten us anywhere."

"I suppose not."

"So you wouldn't be angry if I stayed here for another hour, on the floor with you, drinking wine and kissing and groping and letting things progress as they might, and then got up and went home? You wouldn't call that adolescent behavior?"

"I'd call that progress."

She shook her head again.

"Laura, how about we stop worrying about how relationships are supposed to proceed? We've never followed the rules on that front, anyway. As long as we're both enjoying ourselves and neither of us minds the risk of going home a little hot and bothered, who cares? Do what feels right and stop whenever you need to."

She didn't answer, just stared into the fire for a long time. Eventually he said, "Laura?"

"I almost went to Mexico with William Westfield."

"You...what?"

"The night you left. I changed my mind and came back here, but you were gone."

"Who the hell is William Westfield? Wait...the politician you were doing a background check on? You were involved with William Westfield?" His voice was rising in volume and pitch.

"I was not involved with William Westfield."

"Then why were you going to bloody Mexico with him?"

"I think I was going to have sex with him because I was afraid to have sex with you."

"What the...bloody hell." He got up and started pacing, chugging the remainder of his wine. "Is this some sort of test to see if I stand by my conviction that it's wrong to label women?"

"Would you calm down, please?"

"You tell me that you were going off to Mexico with another man and you want me to calm down?"

"Well, you were going to Australia at the time."

"Not to screw William sodding Westfield!"

"That's good, because I don't think you're his type."

He stood there, hands on hips, nostrils flaring, and looked down at her.

She looked back up at him. "So, do you want to yell at me or do you want to hear what I have to say?"

He thought about it for a second. "I can't do both?"

"No, because if you keep yelling at me I'm going to go home."

He thought for another second. "Fine." He sat down on the couch.

She sighed and took her wine glass off the coffee table. "I'm sorry that I've upset you. I just felt dishonest keeping it from you, even though nothing happened. I probably shouldn't have told you."

He slid back down to the floor and leaned against the couch, and his voice was a little calmer, but still hurt. "I'm glad you told me. But I don't understand it. Why him?"

"Because he was dull and safe and not you. And I've been obsessing about sleeping with you for so long that I was starting to feel like there's something wrong with me."

"Wrong how?"

"Wrong, like why have I wanted you for three-and-a-half-years and yet run for the door every time it looks like we might get past first base? Wrong, like how is it that when I feel your desire for me it scares me as much as it turns me on? Wrong, like how can I keep turning you down and then dream about your body all night? This isn't normal adult behavior. I'm not some teenage virgin, but I act like I'm going to get grounded if my mom finds out I've been messing around."

"You dream about my body?"

She rolled her eyes and went on. "I wanted to prove to myself that my hang-ups are limited to you, which would have let me off the hook. Call it cheap therapy."

"So why didn't you go?" he asked quietly.

"Because it wouldn't have been fair to any of us...you, me, or William. He's a nice guy and deserves better than to be used like that. And you had waited around for all this time, never pressuring me...well, okay, never pressuring me too much. And I didn't want him...I wanted you."

"So...you're saying that your resistance to spending the night with me isn't based on concerns about the agency. There's something else."

She threw up her hands. "I don't know. I think it started with concerns about the agency. But it's also fear that I'll get too deeply involved with you and then you'll disappear, and I'll..."

"You'll what?"

"Never mind."

"You don't trust me."

Now she looked angry. "Well, when I came back here that night, you were gone. So you can't say that that particular concern was a figment of my imagination."

"You know why I went."

"Yes, I do. Now. But at the time I was standing here, staring at your empty closets and your empty bed, and thinking that I'd never see you again. So, yes, there are limits on how much I trust you these days."

"I didn't know you'd come back here that night."

She took a sip of wine and didn't speak.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why do you think?"

After a moment he took her wineglass and placed it on the table, then held her hand and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Laura. If you can try to forgive me for taking off without telling you, I'll do my best to forget that William Westfield ever existed."

She squeezed his hand. "I suppose I can live with that."

Gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, he said, "I'm sorry if my leaving the way I did set us back."

"Well, you left, at least in part, because of my speech about needing time apart." She sighed. "Do you think we can just move on from here?"

"I think that as long as we're together, there's reason to be optimistic about our chances." He kissed her gently on the temple. "Do you want to go home now? Or will you stay a little while longer?"

She placed her other hand over his and traced the veins with her finger. "Did you mean what you said? About not minding where we leave off?"

"Yes."

She didn't move, and after a moment he shifted his legs and pulled her between them, gently easing her back against his chest. He took the barrette out of her hair and began running his fingers through it, massaging her head and neck. He slowly worked his way down to her shoulders and tilted her a little bit away from his so that he could rub there, saying, "You're tense."

"Mmm."

After a few minutes, she giggled a little and said, "Wow...just this?"

"What?"

She cleared her throat meaningfully.

He got what she was saying and said, "Actually, Laura, it takes a constant effort on my part not to get aroused by the sight of you answering the phone or the scent of you from across the office. So, yes...'just this' will do it, I'm afraid."

He made to extricate himself from behind her, but she stopped him. "Oh, no you don't. No more being coy, remember?" She turned sideways in his arms and pressed against him with her hip as she ran her hand up his neck and into his hair. He groaned deep in his chest and pulled her more tightly against him before seeking her lips with his own.

He gently explored her mouth with his tongue, and she reciprocated. Their breathing quickened, and she began teasing his nipple through his shirt. His fingers danced across her throat, stroking and caressing. Long minutes passed as they took their time, kissing and touching, not pushing any more boundaries. At last he began unbuttoning her shirt, but then broke the kiss and whispered, "Is this okay?" She nodded and he untucked her shirt and finished the buttons, but didn't make a move to take it off, instead returning his hand to her neck and the top of her chest.

Moving her lips to his neck, she shifted against him, causing him to gasp. His hand made its way lower and held the slight weight of her breast, his thumb running lightly over her hard nipple through the pale blue satin of her bra. Shuddering against him, she grabbed a handful of his hair, and he slid his hand under the elastic at the bottom of the bra and onto her bare flesh.

Suddenly, she pulled away. "Wait...I'm sorry."

With a ragged breath he took his hand away and released her from the embrace. "Time to go?" he asked.

She looked distressed as she nodded. "I'm sorry."

He sighed. "Laura, stop apologizing. I've enjoyed you immensely tonight." He gave her a shaky smile and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Button up. Can't have you heading out like that; my doorman would likely follow you home."

She looked at him. "You're really not upset with me?"

"No, I'm really not. I told you to stop when you needed to, and you did. We're fine. There will be other nights."

Standing up, she began to button her shirt. While her back was turned, he stood up, a little painfully. He ran his hands through his hair and adjusted his trousers. When she turned around, he smiled at her.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she walked slowly to the door, and he followed.

"I'll...see you in the office tomorrow. We have an appointment with a new client at nine-thirty," she said.

"Okay. I'll be there."

She moved to leave, but he grabbed her and pushed her firmly against the wall, holding her wrists above her head and pressing his body fully against her. He kissed her softly but deeply, and then stepped back and smiled devilishly at her. "Sweet dreams, Miss Holt."

After she opened the door, she paused and gave him a smirk in return. "Enjoy your shower, Mr. Steele."


	2. Chapter 2

_Epilogue_

A few days later, Steele came into Laura's office just before noon.

"Lunch today, Laura?"

She put down the file she was reading, and said, "I'm sorry, but I'm meeting my friend Michael. You know, the artist from San Francisco? I called him the other day and it turns out he had some business in L.A., so he drove down."

"Ah, perhaps tomorrow, then. Have a wonderful time with your friend." He headed back to his office, a small smile on his lips.

They spent the afternoon and early evening wrapping up a case, and it was after dark when he left the office. As he got into the limo Fred handed him a large, rigid brown envelope with a smaller envelope taped to the front. The smaller one read "open this first" in Laura's neat printing.

His pulse quickened, but he was determined to wait until he was home in his apartment before he would break the seal on either envelope. She wouldn't, would she? It seemed too much to hope for. She was so modest around him...but the other night, things had changed between them...in a small way, perhaps, but it was still progress in their relationship. Could she possibly trust him enough?

Once in the apartment, he shrugged off his suit coat and tossed it on the couch, then went to the dining room table where he dropped the large envelope before ripping into the smaller one.

_Michael brought these with him. It occurred to me that keeping them from you would only build up unreasonable expectations and increase the tension between us, both of which I'd say we have plenty of already._

_They are more or less what I remember. The originals were 16" by 20", and were displayed in a row, with the top one on the far left and the others proceeding in order. I'd rather not be with you when you look at them, so I'm sending them with Fred and would appreciate if you'd return them to me at the office tomorrow._

_L_

His hands shook as he eased the stack of eight-by-ten photographs from the envelope.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting--perhaps rather abstract or obscure images--but that's not what these were. He carefully spread out the pictures across the table as Laura had suggested, and leaned over to study them.

They were stunning. They were black and white, full body shots of Laura as she danced. His arousal was instantaneous, but he chose to ignore it. The background in each one was different, although they were all outdoors. After a moment he realized that her movement in each picture led to the next, as if it was time-lapse photograph, and the lighting in each one appeared to be identical. Only the background was different. It occurred to him that it must have taken a great deal of time and care to set up each of these photographs, to get the position and the lighting perfect in such a variety of locales. He did a quick count and realized that there were fifteen in all, and the backgrounds ranged from woods to city walls. Laura and Michael must have spent days...weeks...getting these exactly right. Plus, they would have had to deal with the issue of how to do all this without attracting a crowd or getting arrested. He wondered how they managed it.

But the thing that struck him the most was Laura. She was unbelievably beautiful, and as fully alive as he'd ever seen her. Her expression in each photograph was one of calm confidence, but there was a little sparkle of humor that shone through. How did she manage to convey that consistently through all of these pictures, through what had to have been hours of grueling photo shoots?

He found himself oddly jealous of Michael for having shared this with Laura. He knew that they weren't romantically involved, but still, the thought of him working so closely with her, creating something like this as a team, gave him a pang. He suddenly recognized the expression on Laura's face...it was the way she looked when she'd figured out a case and couldn't wait to share her insight with him. It was a mixture of pride and teasing and pure happiness that came from doing something well, and knowing it.

After looking carefully at each photo in turn, he went back to the beginning and began studying Laura in more detail. Every nuance of her skin, every curve of her hip he stared at until they were burned into his brain. As he committed each image to memory, he moved on to the next one.

He stood up straight at last, and realized that his neck ached from leaning over the photos; he must have been standing there for an hour or more. He went into the kitchen and got a glass of water, then stood in the doorway pondering what to do next.

One night. He had one night with these images. She had given him no guidelines or restrictions other than that she would like them back tomorrow. He wanted to make copies and wallpaper his apartment with them, wanted to use them to ease the throbbing that hadn't let up since he'd seen the first one. Still, there had to be rules. She was trusting him to write them himself, but he knew there had to be rules.

He walked along the length of the table with his hands behind his back, again looking at each photograph in turn. This time he tried to view them with the professional detachment of a connoisseur of the arts. She had been right when she said that they weren't sexual; her nudity in each was incidental; her expression and her movements were the centerpiece of the work. They made a statement about her individuality, her unchanging essence. That was what made the series art rather than just photographs. And they could never be mistaken for pornography.

Still, he couldn't help his visceral response to them. It would have been easier if she'd looked appreciably different then than she did now, but the photographs could have been taken yesterday. Her hair had been a bit longer then, but that was the only difference he could discern. One of the images showed her breast in perfect profile, and he felt a painful tightening as he remembered the feel of it in his hand a few nights previous. Yet the thought of using these pictures...it seemed like a betrayal of her trust.

Suddenly the ridiculousness of the situation struck him. He was alone in his apartment at ten o'clock at night, studying pictures of a woman he couldn't have and debating the moral implications of having a wank before bed. How had things descended to this point? There was a time when he never spent an evening alone by choice, when he could have a woman in his bed with a sultry look and a well-phrased compliment. He was a grown man, and this was pathetic. He poured himself a glass of scotch and flopped down on the couch.

The truth was, he did get angry sometimes about Laura leaving him unsatisfied. This couldn't go on much longer, that was certain. She was going to have to get over her childish hesitation, or he was going to have to move on.

As he studied the dark amber of the scotch, he realized that this was a load of bullocks. Her childishness was more than matched by his own, He couldn't commit to her, couldn't tell her how he felt, like a teenage boy with a crush. He couldn't ask her to grow up until he was ready to himself.

He realized he'd skipped dinner, and the scotch was burning his stomach. He didn't want to eat, though. What he wanted to do was drive across town and tell Laura that he was in love with her and wanted to be with her and only her, and hopefully take her to bed and explore that lovely body in person. Well, actually, no, what he wanted was to have the courage to do that.

He stood up and walked around the table once more, looking at the now-familiar images. He grabbed the phone and dialed Laura's number.

"Hello?"

He suddenly realized that it was getting rather late, and that he didn't actually know what he was going to say.

"Laura, it's me."

"Oh, hi."

"I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I was just reading."

He hesitated.

"Did you need something?" she asked.

"No, I just...wanted to say goodnight."

"Okay....well, goodnight. I'll see you in the office." She sounded mildly amused.

He took a deep breath. "Wait, Laura. I want to thank you...for sharing this with me. And tell you that I...well...that they are beautiful. That you are beautiful."

"Um, thank you. That's...kind of you. I'll see you tomorrow." He could hear the embarrassment in her voice.

"Wait...I also want to say..." He hesitated, and ran his hand through his hair. "...to thank you...for coming to find me. For bringing me home."

He heard her inhale, then she said softly, "You're welcome."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He hung up the phone and stared at it for a second. Adolescent behavior, indeed. Still...it was progress.

_End_


End file.
